


Marvel High School AU

by perish_honey



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: High School
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-04-24 17:56:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19178461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perish_honey/pseuds/perish_honey
Summary: your favorite marvel characters in high school together. it isn't exactly saving the world, but high school provides plenty of drama to keep them occupied. sports, clubs, talent shows, relationships . . . and a few villains.





	1. Tony

“Tony. Tony. Tony. Toneeeeeeeee—”

Tony Stark laboriously lifted himself from his exquisitely nonchalant backpack-supported bus seat slouch. Sighing, he clicked off his phone.

“What is it, Parker?”

Several rows in front of him, in the uncool front half of the bus where underclassmen are obligated to sit, Peter Parker was dangling over the back of his seat. He isn’t a bad kid, really, thought Tony, he’s even pretty smart. He’s just impossibly annoying. Peter looked positively beside himself at having gotten Tony’s attention.

“You had Ross for math, right?” said Peter, just slightly over the volume required for trans-bus communication.

“No need to yell, Petey, jeez. And yes.” They’d been over this several times, actually.

“Ev’rybody siddown,” drawled the bus driver, glancing at Peter in the mirror.

“Oh! Sorry!” Peter dropped back into his seat and instead leaned around the side, into the aisle, apparently comfortable with lying full-out across his best friend Ned. “So anyway, do you remember the logs and exponentials test? Ours is in two days and I wanted to know is it hard? I mean I’ve done well on the quizzes and I think I understood the homework but y’know transformations? I feel like I haven’t really gotten the hang of those and so anyway I wanted to ask was it hard?”

Tony spared a brief glance across the aisle at his friend Bruce, who offered the appropriate amused-but-exasperated eye roll. “I took it two years ago, bud, so I don’t even remember anymore. There was probably like one transformation. You’ll be fine, Ross is an easy grader,” Tony said, and returned to his phone.

“Oh. . . Thanks!” Peter clambered back into his seat, earning a few yelps from Ned. Tony flashed a peace sign above his head in response.

Bruce swung his legs into the aisle, leaning across to talk to Tony. “You know the kid idolizes you, right?”

“Pssh,” said Tony, not looking up from his phone. In fact, he did know, and if he was honest with himself, he even felt a little flattered at times. Mostly, though, he wished his devotee would be someone a little more chill and with a slightly lower-pitched voice. If you go onto thesaurus.com, Peter Parker is listed under antonyms of chill. Tony didn’t know whether he wanted to help the kid or shut him inside a locker, so mostly he just ignored him.

Bruce seemed to be able to read some of this in his face. When Tony looked up again, Bruce was watching him with a half-smirk. Tony flipped him the bird. It turned into a full smirk, and Bruce went back to annotating Crime and Punishment.

The bus turned a sharp corner. “I think we’re here,” yelled Peter. 

“Thank you for the enlightening announcement, Parker,” said a pair of Air Jordans extending from the seat behind him. This was Shuri, who, despite being a sophomore, was indisputably the most popular person in the whole school. Also probably the smartest. She exuded an effortless cool even Tony could appreciate.

“Okay, kids, make sure you have all your things and then follow me. Will someone grab the football?” asked Dr. Selvig, AP Physics teacher and coach of the Lee High School Quiz Bowl team.

“I got it, Doc,” said Ned. As the team filed out, he grabbed the black plastic briefcase which was neither a football nor a container of nuclear codes but rather held the buzzers and timers used in the game.

Inside DCHS, the LHS kids exchanged curious glances with the strange students of their rival high school. This bit, the in between bus ride and match bit, always felt odd to Tony. Other schools were like a dimension he wasn’t shaped to inhabit. He hastily broke eye contact with the DCHS girl who had just met his stare and pretended to do something on his phone. A teacher stationed in the front lobby had told them that their home base would be room L402 and then gave directions which Tony had completely ignored. He instead followed the sound of Ned and Peter excitedly discussing Peter’s new Endor Base LEGO set (“It includes a walker and the base has sliding doors!” “Noooo waaaayy!”)

“Are four levels really necessary?” complained Bruce, stomping up the final flight of stairs before they reached L402. “We do just fine with two.”

“Yeah, well, we have 1600 kids and they have, what, 4000? And the lot’s pretty small so expanding up is the only way to go, I guess,” Tony replied.

In L402, the students dumped their backpacks in a corner. Ned and Peter set to work dragging the desks into two lines of five, then Jane and Helen set up the buzzers and the lockbox. Darcy eagerly tested each buzzer, letting off beep after beep while Shuri reset the box. Doc Selvig rummaged in his bag, tossing several pads of yellow lined paper onto a nearby desk and pulling out a stack of name cards. As he read off the names, each team member retrieved their cards.

“Bruce — Darcy — Shuri — Ned — Tony — Stephen - sorry, I mean Strange — Peter — Viz — Jane — Helen,” recited Doc Selvig.

“Can you get that— thanks, Bruce,” called Helen, who was stuck behind the desks untangling some buzzer wires.

“Alrighty then, kids, it’s the first match of the season, and we want to start off strong! We were so close to state last year—” A dreamy look crept over Selvig’s eyes, as if he were reminiscing, and the team waited patiently until he began to talk again. “-- And I think we have a real shot at making it this time. We’ve got a great team, very strong. I think we can beat DCHS, but they’ve historically been a bit tough, so I need to play our strongest members to begin with. If we’ve got a comfortable lead towards the end, I’ll sub the rest of you in. Remember, I want all of you to get playing time, but we also have to think practically. For our starters today. . . Tony, you be captain. Strange, I want you on his right and Jane on the left. Shuri and Helen get the last two spots.” Tony felt a gleam of pride. Captain. Captain Stark. It had a nice ring to it. He slid into the center seat and carefully arranged his name card and buzzer towards the front.

“Some final reminders,” continued Doc Selvig, “be quick and don’t be afraid to jump in on a toss-up, but also be sure to gauge the other team’s response time. The questions are pyramidal, so they get more specific as time goes on. Do not blurt out answers to the bonuses. Tony will report for the team unless he defers. And finally. Do not break the Cardinal Rule!” At this, everyone turned to look at Ned, who shrank two inches to hide behind his precalculus textbook.

The DCHS team arrived and filled their assigned seats; their coach sat at the head desk next to Dr. Selvig. He flipped open the question packet and slid his glasses to the end of his nose, turning to look at the assembled teams.

“Since LHS are the guests here, why don’t they go first at introductions? Please ring in and say your name,” said the DCHS coach.

Introductions were a time-honored tradition of Quiz Bowl. Tony actually had a running list of interesting ways to do introductions, some of which required rehearsal on the bus beforehand. It’s an intimidation technique, he had once explained to his friend Rhodey, who was not on the team and could not grasp why Tony had whipped out his phone during lunch to make a note of “reverse alphabetical order of middle name.” The more complicated your intro, the smarter the other team thinks you are.  
Tony pressed his buzzer, watching the little bulb light up green. “My name is Tony, and I am captain—”

“Co-captain,” muttered Strange next to him. Tony paused and made a face like he was trying to inhale a grapefruit through his nostril.

“-- co-captain of the LHS Quiz Bowl team.” Technically it was true; they had voted during practice a few weeks ago and he had tied with Strange. Why there was any dispute Tony couldn’t imagine, because he was cool and smart and interesting, whereas Strange was a smart but also arrogant, condescending, stuck-up little— 

He wrenched his thoughts back to the present with an effort.

“My teammates will introduce themselves in order of ascending longitude,” he concluded. Because of the orientation of the school, this was really just a fancy way of saying left-to-right, but it certainly sounded smart. Tony had checked Google Maps and worked it out with the other starters before DCHS arrived.  
The other team went for the overused “buzzer speed” introduction. Amateurs, thought Tony. He sized up their captain, a reedy white dude named Josh who looked uncreative enough to have resorted to buzzer speed.

“Before we start, can we get a sc— oh, you’re already there,” said Doc Selvig, noting Viz, the ever-diligent scorekeeper, stationed by the whiteboard. He had made a perfectly perpendicular t-chart with DCHS and LHS printed on either side in his font-like handwriting.

The DCHS coach settled his glasses higher on his nose and squinted at the question packet. “Welcome to the first match of this year’s varsity Quiz Bowl tournament. Good luck to you all. Okay. . . toss-up number one. You will have ten seconds to ring in after I finish the question.” Tony positioned his finger carefully over the buzzer button, seeing his teammates do the same in his peripheral vision. “Science. The Shannon index describes this quantity entropically, incorporating evenness and abundance. The alpha type of this quantity is measured at one—”

BZZZ. The coach looked up. “Um. . . Helen.”

You got this, Helen, thought Tony. Bio is her thing.

“Biodiversity,” she answered calmly.

“That is. . .” the coach said, scanning to the bottom of the question, “correct. Ten points to LHS.”

Tony breathed out a small sigh of relief, feeling a surge of pleasure as Viz scribed a tally on the LHS side of the scoreboard. He shot a wink at Helen, mouthing “nice one.” She grinned back.

“Bonus number one to LHS,” continued the coach. “Math.” Tony sat up a little straighter. “Let p be a prime number greater than three. For ten points each. . . One: because it is not divisible by two, p must have this property.”

“Oddness,” said Tony immediately, not even bothering to confer with his teammates.

“Correct. Two: what two remainders are possible when dividing p by 6?”

Tony thought for a second. “One and five.”

“Correct again. Finally, what theorem states that three to the p, divided by p, must have a remainder of three?”

“Fermat’s little theorem,” blurted Tony.

The DCHS coach gave him a grudging nod, saying, “And that’s a sweep for LHS. Toss-up number two. . .”

Strange kicked Tony’s calf under the desks. “You’re supposed to confer with us for the bonuses,” he hissed.

Tony gave him a winning smile. “Well, I didn’t need to. I knew all the answers.”

“But what if you didn’t?”

“Shhhhh. . . the question is starting,” Tony said, his smile brightening as Strange’s glower darkened.

LHS had worked up a comfortable lead by halftime, thanks to the abundance of science- and math-related questions. Jane and Helen were able to bolster them a bit on history and literature, because they actually paid attention in those classes, but everyone in the lineup was a STEM kid first and foremost. 

Doc Selvig checked the questions packet, then checked the scoreboard. “A hundred twenty. . . Okay, guys, I think I can make some substitutions here. Ned, you go in for Helen, and Peter, you go in for Strange.”

Several things happened at once: Strange coughed indignantly, Peter seemed to float a few inches off the ground, and Tony spontaneously developed a throbbing headache.

“Doctor, don’t you think that as co-captain I should—” began Strange in the smarmy voice Tony hated.

“--cheer on the team and be supportive and cooperative,” finished Selvig, giving Strange a look. “I think Peter will be very useful in this half.” Peter’s grin looked like it might rip his face in half. Tony’s headache throbbed harder. He slid into his seat once again, trying to ignore the stream-of-consciousness chatter coming from the sophomore next to him.

“I can’t believe Doc put me in here, I mean I’m nowhere near as good as Strange, but maybe he thinks I am? Wow, could you imagine, I mean this is so cool I’m like your right-hand man, well I guess if you want, I mean—”

“I’ll make sure to defer to you if there’s a question about Endor Base, how ‘bout that,” said Tony, rubbing his temples.

“Really?! That’s sweet, I mean that’s sick, I’ll do my best. Co-captain’s seat. . .” Peter turned and flashed a thumbs-up to Ned, who was looking incredibly nervous.

It got close around question 17, but LHS pulled ahead in the end. It turned out that Ned actually liked to read a lot and was somehow a geek for both Star Wars and Shakespeare. Peter knew way more pop culture than Tony cared to learn, and, surprisingly, a ton of chemistry.

“What science class are you taking this year?” Tony asked Peter when the match was over. Peter hastily gulped down the mouthful of fruit snacks he had been chewing on.

“AP Chem. They let me test into it,” he replied, a hesitant sort of pride manifesting on his face.

“Really?” Tony tried to keep himself from looking impressed. After a few moments of warring impulses, he softened. “That’s pretty cool, Parker.” The kid turned the color of a tomato, stuttered a sort of thanks, and dashed off to relay the whole interaction to Ned.

Bruce drew up beside Tony, smirking again. “He’ll pop the question any day now.”

“Shut up,” Tony said, punching Bruce in the shoulder. But he smiled when he was sure no one was watching.


	2. Nakia

The second hand of the clock had never moved slower, and Nakia’s foot had never tapped faster. She stared at the offending hand, willing it to throw off the soporific influence of 8th period AP Spanish. It wasn’t that Mr. Coulson was a bad teacher, exactly; he was just kind of bland and anyway, getting through any eighth period class when you had something exciting after school was like trying to swim through molasses. A lifetime ago, there had been two minutes left in class. Now there were thirty seconds. Nakia tuned out Coulson’s re-explanation of cláusulas con si and bounced her leg ever faster.

“Now remember, everyone: hubiera goes with habr—” Thankfully, the blaring end-of-school bell drowned out the rest of his sentence. Nakia sprang up, throwing her bag over her shoulder. She was the first student out the door of X108. 

Weaving skillfully through the hordes of students filling the halls, Nakia forced herself to take several deep breaths. Her fingers still tapped a swift rhythm on the strap of her bag, but her mind felt a little less cluttered. It’s going to be okay, she told herself. Nakia paused in front of one of the hall bulletin boards while the sea of students continued to surge around her. There it was: her flyer.

She had put them up a week and a half ago, and she knew every word by heart, but she reread it anyway. Yep, all the right information. Today was supposed to be the easy part, the part where everything was out of her hands and she just had to wait and see who showed up. The hard part, technically, was planning out initial activities and asking the notoriously intimidating Ms. Carter to be the staff sponsor. Nakia had been only a little scared to approach Ms. Carter. She had had her for AP US History last year, and the teacher liked her and was also a fierce advocate for human rights. So, no, that actually wasn’t too hard. The real nerves came from awaiting the student response. LHS students were generally nice kids but also shockingly ignorant and complacent. They were good about supporting local charities and food pantries, and pretty much nothing beyond that. And that’s what I’m going to change, thought Nakia as she arrived at the door of Q124. She straightened her colorful skirt and headwrap and then marched inside.

So far the only inhabitants of the room were Ms. Carter, impeccably dressed as ever in a pantsuit, and Pepper Potts, president of the Student Council and Nakia’s best friend. Pep turned at the sound of the door opening, ginger ponytail swishing with the motion, and she grinned when she saw Nakia. 

“Thanks for coming, Pep,” said Nakia, slinging her bag onto a nearby desk.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” In one look, Pepper seemed to discern everything that was going on in Nakia’s head. “And I’m positive that it won’t just be me. I heard Steve Rogers convincing the rest of the Boy Scout Bunch to come during lunch. And where Steve goes, Bucky Barnes follows, so you’re guaranteed at least two other members.”

“Rogers, huh? I guess this is the sort of upstanding thing that he would do,” Nakia said, feeling a little bit pleased.

“I always thought Steve was like a cartoon,” mused Ms. Carter, a smile playing on her ruby-red lips. “Not in a bad way, of course, he’s a wonderful kid. It’s just that he’s so all-American that you almost think he’s made up. Top it off with that hair and those eyes—”

“--And you’ve got a boy straight from a World War Two recruitment poster. I know exactly what you mean,” said Pepper, laughing. “I went to elementary school with him, and he was like eighty years old even then. He called all the teachers ‘sir’ and ‘ma’am’ and always looked so solemn.”

“He sat next to me in English sophomore year. He’s nice,” said Nakia. And cute, mouthed Pep. Nakia rolled her eyes.

Changing the subject, Nakia said, “I made a Powerpoint for today. Is it okay if I pull it up on your computer, Ms. Carter?” As Nakia logged into her account, the door banged open, letting in a small stream of students led by — Thor Odinson? No way. There was no way that Thor Odinson, the blond giant, the boisterous partygoer, He of the Bajillion Varsity Letters, was joining her Human Rights Club. And yet, there he was, dwarfing the tiny desk chair he had chosen as a perch. Following him were Steve and Bucky, plus Sam Wilson and Rhodey, rounding out the Boy Scout Bunch. Pepper chatted them up immediately, because she was a master of small talk that didn’t feel like small talk, and Nakia was left to her thoughts. Her thoughts were as such: Wild. Maybe she should have brought snacks.

She glanced at the clock. It was 3:25, ten minutes after school ended, so it was probably about time to start the presentation.

“Hi everyone,” she yelled, which was necessary because Thor spoke at volume level 30 at all times. They quieted and turned to look at her. “Hi. Um. I’d like to thank you all for coming to the first meeting of Human Rights Club. I wanted to start off today’s meeting with a presentation showing some of what we’re—”  
But the door flew open again, and Nakia stopped her speech to look.

“Hi. . .” Standing in the doorway was T’Challa. He was smiling at her in a weird frozen way, and he hadn’t moved out of the doorway.

“Hi?”

“Oh!” He blinked and seemed to realize what he was doing. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I had to tell my coach that I was going to be late to practice, but I guess that made me late coming here, so. . . my bad.”

Nakia reassured him that he was fine. “We hadn’t really started yet. Please, take a seat,” she said, gesturing to the assembled desks and trying to ignore Pep, who was clearly trying to communicate something through intense eye contact.

“So anyway, I made this presentation to show some of what we’re up against as a Human Rights Club, and what we are obliged to do as citizens of the world.” She clicked the remote. “This is a picture of a mother and her child. The woman is crying because her husband, a fourteen-year resident of the US and well-respected employee at the local grocery store, has just been deported to Mexico. He was the breadwinner in her family, and with no other relatives in America, she has no way to either support her son or take care of him during the day while she works. Her name is Maria. There are hundreds, thousands of other Marias, dreamers in America who work hard and yet have their dreams stripped away.” Nakia could feel the power building in her voice. This was what she knew. This was what she was passionate about. This was her mission. By the end of the Powerpoint, her small audience was looking subdued and concerned. 

“Well. I can see that I’ve made an impact on you. I need you guys to take that energy that you’re feeling and put it to good use. The world may look bleak, but there are so many good people in it, and so much we can do to help. I want Human Rights Club to have three main tasks: education, fundraising, and volunteering. Educating others is just as important as taking action ourselves.Yeah, Pep?”

Pepper, who had been raising her hand, cleared her throat. “I thought we might include one or two foreign or global organizations when we vote for The Drive this year. We’ve always chosen local ones before, and that seems so. . . small-minded now.”

“That’s really great, Pep!” The Drive was the school’s massive annual charity fundraiser, led by Student Council — and therefore, by Pepper, the president. The whole community got involved. Last year they had raised upwards of $200,000. “That kind of support for one of our charities would be. . . incredible.The only problem would be getting the student body to vote for it.”

“You need a good video,” said Rhodey, speaking up for the first time. “I’m pretty good at editing. Sam’s in my film class, too.”

“Show it in homeroom before the vote,” suggested Sam.

“I would vote for it,” said Thor.

Nakia smiled. “Thank you, Thor.”

“I think all you’d have to do is say you voted for it, and then we’ve got the rest of the football team in the bag,” said T’Challa, grinning. “Those people listen to you.”

“And you,” muttered Bucky. “What? It’s true. People like you. And Pepper. They’ll do it if you do.”

“Well, as StuCo president I can’t exactly show any bias, but I’m sure you boys can work some magic,” Pepper said.

“Do people even vote for these things?” interjected Sam. “I mean, I’ve never done those stupid surveys — sorry, I guess,” he said, shrugging at Pepper. “Kinda didn’t care because we’d be end up doing something nice or good or whatever no matter what I voted. Lotta people feel the same way, I’m pretty sure. Sorry. Again.” Pepper continued to look a little crestfallen.

“Well, that’s not right, is it?” said Steve, speaking up for the first time. “The Drive is supposed to be democratic. It’s supposed to represent a cause that we, as a school, feel passionate about. It just doesn’t work— it’s not authentic if people don’t put in their due effort.”

“Chill out, bro, this isn’t the United Nations.”

Ms. Carter, until this point, had been observing the proceedings with a small smile. “No, indeed, Sam, but I think Steve has a point. Let me just say this, at the risk of sounding pretentious or overly dramatic: At this point in time, our country is suffering from negligent and honestly rather lazy citizens. People say they don’t like the direction our country is headed, they don’t like the immigration policy or the trickle-down policies or what have you, but they refuse to do anything about it. I was shocked at how many of my own colleagues didn’t even vote in the last election. The students here do have opinions about causes, but are content to let that be it. There’s a general belief that regular people are powerless. It’s important to teach them — you — that your actions can be impactful. So Steve is right: we need teach students to contribute now in order for them to continue contributing in the future,” finished Ms. Carter.

“Why not do it on paper instead of on the computers?” suggested Thor. “Homeroom teachers can pass out slips to everyone and collect them at the end.”

Pepper chewed on her bottom lip thoughtfully. “I think that’s a good idea, actually. It’s easier to hold people accountable.”

“I guess I would feel bad handing in a blank slip,” admitted Sam. “It could work.”

“Well,” said Nakia. It was now 4:12, and she had planned to only go until 4:15. “This has been a really great first meeting. I want to thank you all again for coming. Honestly, this was a much better turnout than I could have hoped for, and you guys have some great ideas that make me really excited for the rest of the year! Pep, when’s the vote scheduled?”

“In two weeks.”

“That might cut it a little tight, but I think we can do it. We’ll choose our organizations next week, and then Rhodey and Sam — can I count on you for the video?” They nodded assent. “Awesome. Thor and T’Challa will be our promoters. Okay! See you next week everyone, and thanks again.”

Pepper stayed behind with Nakia while the boys filed out of the room. “Nice job, babe,” she said with a smile.

“Thanks,” replied Nakia, feeling a matching grin tugging at her lips, “and thank you Ms. Carter for sponsoring us.”

“It was my pleasure, Nakia,” said Ms. Carter, as she slid her purse onto her shoulder. “I think you have something amazing in the works.”

It was with a new spring in her step that Nakia followed Pepper to the parking lot. On the way, they discussed possible organizations, the logistics of a paper ballot — Nakia was also on Student Council — and the surreality of having Thor Odinson in her humble club. Pepper glanced up and stopped suddenly. Laying a hand on Nakia’s arm, she said, “You know what, I just realized I forgot something in my locker.”

“Do you want me to wait for you?”

“No, go on ahead. See you tomorrow, love you!” Her voice was suspiciously bright.

“Bye,” Nakia called after her, watching the perfectly curled ponytail shrink into the distance. There has to be something up with h— oh, there we go. On one of the benches next to the front door was T’Challa, and he was staring right at her. There was no way to pretend she hadn’t seen him, so Nakia hitched an awkward smile of greeting onto her face and continued on her way to the parking lot.

“Nakia!” he said, standing up at her approach. She took a deep breath and stopped, wheeling around to face him. He’s really handsome, said the voice in her head that belonged to Pepper. Dammit, said the voice in her head that was her own. T’Challa had started to speak: “I, um, I just wanted to say that your presentation today was really. . . impressive. I had no idea you know so much about all that stuff, and it’s really cool how much you care. It shows. And. . . it makes you. . . I think you looked really strong up there.” His face softened into a charmingly shy smile. Flustered, Nakia’s fingers flew to tug the edge of her headwrap. Her face was too hot.

“Thanks. . . um. . . I really have to go do, uh, homework now, so ummmm. . . see you next week, I guess,” she stuttered, and she fled from the lobby into the parking lot. Safely in her car, Nakia buried her face in her hands for a moment, then scrounged in her backpack for her phone. She pulled up her text thread with Pep.

Nakia: PEP CALL ASAP WHEN YOU GET HOME I AM THE MOST EMBARRASSING HUMAN BEING ALIVE

Pepper: ;) ;) ;)

Nakia: dont wink at me you witch

Nakia: I just ruined my life

Pepper: :D

Pepper: babe he liiiikes youuuuu

Pepper: but ok we’ll save it for facetime. u gotta tell me Everything tho.

Nakia: there isnt that much to tell but ok i promise. God im so pathetic.

Pepper: not too pathetic for TCHALLA the KING to have a CRUSH ON YOU

Nakia: stOP !!


	3. Strange

“Stephen? I’d like to talk to you for a moment.”

“Is it urgent? And it’s Strange.”

“I would like to talk to you. I believe you have lunch right now, so it is not as if you are busy, Stephen.”

Strange rolled his eyes, making no attempt to conceal his action from the old woman staring at him pleasantly, if rather coolly. He pulled out one earbud, letting it bounce against his chest, while the other blasted Chuck Mangione into his left ear. His psychology teacher gazed at the fallen earbud, smiling so calmly it was almost smug. She was called The Ancient One — that wasn’t her real name, obviously, but neither Strange nor any other student bothered to learn it — because she had taught at the school for as long as anyone could remember. She gave off the impression of being obscenely old, but now, looking at her up this close, Strange found that she didn’t look old. He couldn’t put an age to her at all. This made him a bit uncomfortable, so he decided to be even more snarky so he’d feel better.

“Well then, actually I am busy. Eating,” he drawled.

“You are not eating now.”

“No, I’m not, because I have a delightful peanut butter and jelly sandwich waiting in my bag and this happens to be a peanut-free classroom.”

“I’m touched and a little surprised that you would be so considerate of our friends with allergies.”

Strange snorted. He hated it when teachers called their students “friends.” We’re not friends, old lady.

“Stephen, I would like to have a discussion with you regarding your attitude.”

“Jesus Christ,” said Strange. He waited for The Ancient One to reprimand him for taking the Lord’s name in vain, or whatever the hell old women got upset about. She didn’t.

“I have been watching you for these first two months of school.”

“I’ve been told I’m enigmatic and intriguing.”

“Indeed. The enigma here is why you are lazy and disrespectful. You do not put forth any discernible effort. You never participate in class; you have not done a single homework assignment. You listen to music for the entire class period, making no attempt to hide it. You act as though your classmates are somehow unintelligent for taking notes during my lectures,” she said, catching and holding eye contact with Strange. Her eyes were unsettling: unblinking, framed by eyelashes and brows so pale as to be invisible.

“I have not missed a single question on any of your assessments.”

“No. You have not.” It had been like two minutes since her last blink. What was up with that? “I don’t know how to say this in a way that will make you listen,” continued The   
Ancient One, “but you are very clearly on a path to becoming the worst sort of person. You are a very, very intelligent young man. I am not trying to flatter you. This is a fact. But you are also arrogant, shallow, and self-satisfied. You think that effort is shameful, that trying hard is a mark of inferiority. You think that a glowing grade with no work behind it means that you beat the system, that you’re better. You will become rich and successful and you will treasure the resentment of your peers. One day, Stephen, there will be something that you cannot master simply by being clever, and you will blame everyone but yourself. One day, you will look back at your successes and feel empty because there has been no substance to your life. I am afraid that there is nothing inside you, Stephen, or if there once was, you have eliminated it to cultivate this shell you are so proud of. I am afraid if you do not start trying now, you will be lost forever,” she concluded, continuing to scrutinize him.

Strange met her gaze with a smirk. “Interesting. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a sandwich to eat.” He replaced his right earbud and stood, slinging his backpack over one shoulder. Then he strode from the classroom, leaving the door wide open behind him.

In the psychology classroom, The Ancient One smoothed down the front of her skirt. It might have been goldenrod at one point, but now it was a slightly enthusiastic beige. Her expression had not changed. She gathered her bag, switched off the lights, and slowly shut the door behind her, locking it with a click.

Strange sat by himself at a grubby table in the school courtyard. It was October and arguably too cold to eat outside. A red scarf peeked out of his backpack, but he did not put it on. His hands were a pale purple. Strewn across the table in front of Strange were the crusts of a wheat bread sandwich, a yellowing apple core, and an empty chip bag. His music played too loudly in his ears. 

A beady-eyed raven landed a few feet to his left.

“Piss off,” Strange told it clearly. It hopped closer. His arm jerked into motion, grabbed the apple core. He chucked it at the raven, but the raven flew away, evading him easily. Strange kicked the table leg instead.


	4. Jane

It was fifth period on a Wednesday, and thus Jane was at her usual table in the Student Resource Center. She didn’t have a lab period on Wednesdays, so during her free period, she tutored other students in the SRC. A lot of people had lunch during fifth, which meant the SRC was pretty busy. Luckily, Dr. Pym, the AP Chem teacher and head of the SRC, was fielding most of the customers. That left Jane free to study for her calculus test. She should have done so last night, but Darcy convinced her and Helen to watch reruns of Star Trek. So here I am, cramming three periods before the test. . . great idea, Jane. Just great.

She stared at her notes on convergence tests. Alternating series test: first prove that the limit of an as n goes to infinity is zero, then prove that the absolute value of an+1 is less than an. Okay, think I got that. If both the alternating and non-alternating series converge, then it’s absolutely convergent. But if only the alternating version converges, it’s—

“Hello, Jane. It looks like you’re the only tutor left,” said a booming voice. Jane looked up from her notebook. Occupying the other chair at her table, towering a foot above her even while he slouched, was Thor Odinson. He wore a red and white football jersey and an easy grin.

“Uh. . .”

“I need some help with my physics homework,” Thor said, slapping a green notebook onto the table between them. It was the sort of notebook that splayed outward at the edge, bursting with haphazardly stored worksheets. “And I heard you’re the best physics student at LHS!” He often spoke with exclamation points.

“Well, clearly Tony Stark has fallen down on his propaganda scheme,” Jane said, thinking, You know that about me? “Besides,” she continued, “I thought it was because I’m the last tutor available.”

“That too,” he admitted. Thor began to thumb through his notebook, then rummage around for a pen in his backpack. It looked like a bomb had exploded inside: crumpled papers were strewn around, along with pencil stubs and protein bar wrappers. From the wreckage he pulled a blue ballpoint.

Jane cast a longing look at her calculus notes. I didn’t even go over LaGrange error, she thought sadly. “Okay, what’s the homework on,” sighed Jane.

“Pulleys and inclines,” Thor said, tapping some diagrams on the open page of his notebook. “And this,” he said, handing Jane a worksheet, “is the homework for tomorrow.”

Jane took it and scanned it over. Pretty basic stuff in her opinion. “What are you having trouble with?”

“Um,” said Thor, appearing to think a bit, “doing the problems.”

“Yeah, I just meant — if there was a specific — you know what, we’ll just do the whole thing together.” Jane grabbed her own mechanical pencil.

“Excellent!” said Thor brightly.

“I always find that it helps to do math in pencil, because then you can erase your mistakes, which you’ll probably make a lot of. I mean, I do too.”

“But I’m doing physics,” Thor said, smiling widely.

“I know, which involves — never mind. Okay, so, I like to start out these kinds of problems with a force diagram. Have you been doing that in class? Good. Right, so on the five kilogram box, you have the force of gravity and the force of tension,” explained Jane, sketching the appropriate arrows, “and the same on the three kilogram. Force of gravity for the two boxes is. . . ?”

“Five— no, fifty and thirty Newtons.”

“Yep. Okay. And what do we know about tension on either side of a string?”

“Uh. . . it’s the same, right?”

“Nice. So we’ll put tension as T for each box. The problem gives acceleration for the five kilogram box. What do you think we can do with that to help us find the tension?”

“Fnet equals m times a?” said Thor, looking up at Jane for approval. She made a go on motion with her hand. “So we’ve got Fnet and we want to find T. . . well, if the box is accelerating down, that means its Fnet is G minus T. Right, cuz on the diagram you made the G arrow bigger than the T arrow. Okay, then we can say m times a equals G minus T?”

“Exactly,” said Jane, nodding vigorously. “Why don’t you finish that problem and then try the next one on your own? Just let me know if you get stuck.” She watched him begin to slowly transcribe every step of the problem in huge, dark handwriting. Jane was practically itching to grab the pen out of his hands and do it for him, about ten times faster. She contented herself with a nearly silent sigh. The power series for sin(x) is. . . cos is the same but with just 2n and it starts positive. . . do we need to know arcsin? The teacher never mentioned it, so I hope not, because this is ridiculous.

“Jane?”

“Hmm?”

“How do you figure out how long it takes for block B to hit the ground? Here, look.”

“Oh, you need to find the vertical component of the acceleration. Just some trig. The angle’s just this theta here.” Jane glanced at his worksheet again. “Hey, you started inclines without me!”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Do you mind if I—” Jane scooted her chair around the side of the table to sit next to Thor. “I just want to check over your work. Umm. . . looks like you’re all good so far. Nice. Except don’t forget to put units.”

“Oh, I never bother with those.”

Jane coughed. “Well, you can earn a point on the AP test just for including them, so, um, your loss, I guess. But I think you’re doing well on your own, so I’m just going to — just ask if you need me.”

Thor peered at her notebook. “What are you doing?”

“Studying for a calc test in three periods, because, like an idiot, I put it off until now.”

“What’s this thingy mean?”

“Sum.”

Thor sat back, looking satisfied for some reason. “You are very smart, Jane.”

“Th-thank you. Although if I were smarter I wouldn’t be trying to cram right now, haha,” she said awkwardly. Suddenly aware of the proximity of Thor’s muscled bulk, Jane scooched back toward her original spot at the table. Thor went back to his agonizingly slow writing as if nothing had happened. Jane tried to concentrate on p-series. Some time later, Thor straightened with an air of finality and slapped his notebook shut. There was no vehemence behind it, it was just that he was too strong to handle flimsy cardboard any other way.

“Thank you for your help, Jane, and I shall see you next week!” said Thor, and he was gone. Jane watched as his long, sunny blond hair disappeared through the doorway. Thor had an odd habit of saying people’s names a lot in conversation. Most people didn’t, thought Jane, and it could feel uncomfortably intimate. To be honest, she hadn’t known that Thor knew her name. They weren’t even in the same grade.

“The magic powers of Thor,” muttered Jane, quoting Darcy. Her best friend had a weird relationship with the popular football star. Somehow it had been arranged that the two of them would fist bump whenever they passed each other. That’s just how Darcy was. And definitely not how I am, thought Jane. Ratio test. Limit comparison test. Direct comparison test. Root test. . .


	5. Bruce

“I feel like going hard for Quiz Bowl this year,” said Tony. He plopped down in front of Bruce at their usual caf table. Smacking his tray onto the table, sending a few fries tumbling out of their sleeve on impact, Tony proceeded to pry open his carton of chocolate milk. “I mean, we were really close to state last year. And we’ve only gotten smarter. And some of the infants are actually pretty good.”

“Yeah, I was pretty surprised at how much the newbies were able to — what the hell are you doing?”

Tony looked up at his friend, pouring his chocolate milk into a steaming styrofoam cup.

“Is that green tea?” Bruce asked disgustedly.

“No, black.”

“Freak.” 

“Look, my mom wants me to ditch the energy drinks and she said I was walking a very thin line with coffee, so I figured I could get my caffeine fix from something sophisticated. She likes tea. Rich British people drink tea.”

“You are a rich person,” pointed out Bruce. Tony ignored him. “And anyway, combining it with chocolate milk is an abomination.”

“I told you don’t use big words around me.” Tony, straight-faced, chugged his concoction.

“You’re nasty. How much sleep did you get last night?”

Tony burped. “Two and a half hours?”

“Incredible.”

“Um, excuse me, I thought we had a no-judgey pact going on? Isn’t that what they tell you in therapy? We’ve both spent enough time there, we should have it down pat,” Tony said, stuffing several fries into his mouth. Bruce glanced from his own meal of a salad and veggie burger to Tony’s tray of French fries, hot Cheetos, and a box of chicken nuggets. Tony pointed an accusing finger at him and said, still chewing, “And don’t you dare start worrying about me. I’m perfectly healthy. You have enough of your own problems to worry about.”

As usual, Bruce braced for the twinge that accompanied anyone mentioning his years of anger issues, and as usual, because it was Tony, none came. It was one of the things they had in common — one of the few things they had in common, actually — aside from an intense love for science and appreciation for classic rock. Tenuous mental health. Bruce suppressed a sardonic laugh. Not exactly the firmest foundations for friendship, he thought, but hey, we’ve lasted this long. Between Tony’s panic disorder and his anger issues, they’d probably spent almost as much time in therapy as out of it. They didn’t talk about it often, but they both understood each other, and that was all Bruce needed. And they didn’t treat each other specially. Tony didn’t dance around Bruce like some students still did, and Bruce didn’t smother Tony like his mother did. It worked.

Bruce watched with vague despair as Tony inhaled the bag of hot Cheetos. He didn’t even use his fingers, just shook the thing into his mouth. That way, there was no Cheeto dust on his fingers as he typed on his sleek laptop, undoubtedly working on the code for some new robot. Tony fueled his amphetaminic multitasking frenzy with a steady diet of caffeine and carbohydrates. Bruce got exhausted just thinking about it.

“So. . . going hard for Quiz Bowl?” prompted Bruce.

“Right. So,” Tony said, still looking at his computer screen. Tony rarely looked at anyone while he talked, because he was always working on something. Bruce had ceased to be offended by this years ago, but most teachers got seriously pissed about it. “So I was thinking about the areas that we don’t really have covered yet, mainly art and music and literature and history. So like, half of the questions. But Doc Selvig gave us those frequency lists, right? Can’t be too hard to memorize. I could do the top 100 in each category and we’d be good to go. If I do one a night it’ll be ready for next practice.”

“Ever considered including the rest of the team in your grand conquest?” asked Bruce, spearing a cucumber.

“Nope.”

“Well, it might actually be smarter, not to mention more captain-ly, to assign certain people to each subject. That way everyone can be an expert in one or two areas rather than you being a semi-expert in ten. Not sure even your brain can handle that.”

“Bold of you to assume I have a brain, Banner,” said Tony. He rolled his hands against his thighs, cracking every knuckle. “Everyone knows that you’re my brain. Conscience, at least. God, where would I be without you?”

“I have several ideas, actually.”

“And I don’t want to hear any of them.”

“In jail, stuck in that gas station in Greenville, OD’d on Redbull, stranded in the middle of the river at—”

“‘K fine, I get it, I get it,” muttered Tony. A female laugh sounded from near the cafeteria line, and just for an instant, his gaze flicked up from the laptop.

“And how does Pepper look today,” said Bruce, smiling into his salad.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Tony loftily. But there was a spot of color in his cheeks, and his eyes lingered on something — someone — in the distance a second longer before he dropped back into his working slouch. “Come to my place after Robotics tonight. I’m working on something and I want your help.”

“You know I’m more of a bio guy.”

“And chem!” Tony wagged a finger at him. “And chem. I need to consult on energy sources.”

“Is your dad home yet?”

“No,” said Tony shortly, and there was an implied "Thankfully" behind it. Mr. Stark was not a subject Bruce breached often, and judging from Tony’s reaction, now was not the time to do so.

“Hey.” Bruce threw a carrot slice at Tony. “Quiz me on organic compounds.”

“You don’t need to study, and I’m busy,” complained Tony.

“You haven’t typed a thing since you saw Pepper.”

“I was thinking?”

“Shut up and take my flashcards.”

“Archaic. Just use Quizlet like everyone else in the twenty-first century,” grumbled Tony, but he took the proffered stack of index cards. 

“You know that writing something out is more effective for memorizing it.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I memorize stuff fine typing it.”

“Well, we all know something’s wrong with you.”

“Touché. Alright. Okay, give me the prefixes for one through nine.”

“Meth, eth, prop, but, pent, hex, hept, oct, non.”

Tony slapped the card on the table. “That was too easy for you, Bruce. See, you don’t need to study.”

“That was one card, and it was the easiest one. Please, would you keep going? I have a test tomorrow.”

“Which you could probably ace blindfolded,” Tony muttered. “What’s an aldehyde functional group?”

“It’s got a double-bond O and a single-bond H on the same carbon.”

“This is boring.” Tony tore off the side of one of Bruce’s flashcards and passed it to him, along with a pen. “Draw me. . . um. . . two-methyl three-propyl pentanal.”

“Not fair,” Bruce said, although he accepted the pen. “You’re just trying to keep me busy so you can work on whatever it is you’re doing.”

Tony put his hands up and tried to make puppy-dog eyes. He tried to do this a lot, and it always turned out looking mischievous, because Tony was generally mischievous.

“What are you working on, anyway?” Bruce said, leaning over to try to get a glimpse of Tony’s computer screen. He flipped the screen so that Bruce could see it. Computers were not Bruce’s thing. Organic compounds, sure. Even some robots, as long as it was just the construction part and not the programming part. The lines of code Tony showed him may as well have been Sanskrit.

“An AI,” said Tony, like it was no big deal.

“An A— wow. Um, what are you going to use it for?”

“Dunno. It’s more to prove that I can, y’know? I just want to know that I’m capable of doing this thing. It feels like an important thing to do.” There was something a little off about his voice, like he was talking around something in his throat. From this, Bruce inferred that it was not so much about Tony proving it to Tony but rather Tony proving it to Mr. Stark. He twisted his mouth to one side, aching a little inside for his best friend. Mr. Stark was always perfectly kind to Bruce — at least, he had been the few times they ever met — Stark was almost constantly on one business trip or another, maintaining his multibillion dollar company — but something about his son rubbed him the wrong way. Tony had never really said any of this out loud, but spend enough time with either of them and it was clear enough. Bruce wished he could help. However, he had learned long ago that the best way to help was to leave it well enough alone.


	6. Val

“Anyone want to sign this poster?” called Val, slouched in her chair behind the long grey table. “If you’re an ally, come show your support.” On the table was a huge sheet of pink butcher paper. Emblazoned across the top in black Sharpie letters was “LHS SUPPORTS THE LGBT+ COMMUNITY!” Val wasn’t the best at bubble letters, but it looked nice enough. Just slightly off-center and sloped up at the end of the sentence. 

Next to her, Gamora was cutting out various Pride flag stickers from a sheet. Gamora was one of the allies in the Spectrum club. Which was a shame, because Gamora was cute. Oh well, thought Val, there’s still time for her to come out. They were pretty good friends anyway, due to being on field hockey and lacrosse together.

“You! Are you an ally?” Val shouted, pointing a blue marker at a passing group of football players. A few of them looked confused; another couple ashamed. Only two broke away to come to the table: Thor, who was hot, and Drax, who was stupid. Thor accepted a marker from Val and signed his name with gusto. Val was a little surprised Drax knew which end of the marker to use.

“Excellent! And what am I an ally of?” asked Thor cheerfully.

“The LGBT+ community.” Val pointed at the top of the poster.

“Ah! And what do those stripes mean?” He gestured to the flag Val had painted on her cheek before the lunch period.

“It’s the bi Pride flag. Bi means that I like both guys and girls.”

“I also like girls,” Thor said, nodding astutely. Val shook her head, a bemused smile spreading across her face. 

“Well, thank you guys for your support. Wanna sticker?” Val offered them a handful. Thor took a bi flag and stuck it on like a nametag. Drax declined.

Val watched them walk away. She said to Gamora, “You know, Thor is the kind of person that I thought I would hate on principle. The hot football star. But he’s somehow super friendly and, like, inoffensive. You just have to like him, y’know?”

“One of the rare few who are popular because they deserve to be,” Gamora agreed. She gathered several markers toward her and began doodling rainbows on the top of the poster. “We’ve got a surprisingly large number of signatures and it’s only second lunch. It’s turning out better than I thought.”

“I’m kind of touched, actually.” Val tugged her beanie down to fit more snugly around her ears. “Oh look, more customers.”

“Is it okay if we sign?” It was Steve Rogers, trailed by a somewhat reluctant-looking Bucky Barnes.

“It’s awesome, actually. Pick a marker.” Steve took two, passing one to Bucky, who lurked a bit behind him.

“Here you go, Buck,” said Steve. Bucky took it and then snatched his hand away quickly. Val stared at him while Steve bent over the poster to neatly print his name, middle initial included. When Bucky realized she was watching him, he blushed. Val raised her eyebrows. He avoided her eyes and signed hastily.

Pointedly, Val said, “Would either of you like a pamphlet? Or some stickers?” Steve perked up at the mention of pamphlets. He looks like a pamphlet kind of guy, thought Val. 

“There’s some stuff about LGBT history, some common discriminatory laws and practices, suggestions for how to be a better ally, and support groups for people who are questioning.”

“I’ll be sure to read up,” said Steve, and Val fully believed he would. He also took a rainbow flag and stuck it on one of his folders. “Thank you for the education,” he said rather politely. Bucky said nothing, slouching after Steve.

“Did you see that?” Val asked Gamora once the boys were out of earshot.

“What?”

“Never mind,” said Val. It’s just that Steve’s best friend has a crush on him. Well, if her intuition was good. Which it usually was. Val tapped the edge of a stack of pamphlets against her thigh. This was going to be interesting.


	7. Quill

Peter Quill faced down a small, grumpy sophomore and a large, grumpy freshman.

“Ya wanna start a band?” said Rocket incredulously. He had a ridiculously strong East Coast accent, and it made him sound like he was either a hot dog vendor or part of the mafia. Disconcerting for a tiny, abrasive fifteen-year-old. Quill couldn’t figure out how he even got the accent.

“Yes. To enter the talent show,” said Quill.

“The talent show.”

“Why are you taking that tone?” Quill asked, feeling a little defensive.

“Because it’s not what we do. It’s what theater kids do. It’s what choir kids do. It’s not what we do. Not what cool people do. The very idea of a talent show is uncool.”

“Bands are cool,” said Quill, definitely on the defensive now.

“You’ve never shown the slightest interest in starting a band before.”

“I’m in band! I play the trombone!”

“Yeah, like a loser. So maybe bands are cool, but anything you’re in would be dumb.”

“Hey, that’s not fair.”

“I’m just saying! Trombone is not a cool instrument. It’s not like you play drums or bass or somethin’ like that.”

“So you mean if I played a different instrument, you might consider it.”

“If you could guarantee the band would not be a total loserfest, I would consider it.”

“And how. . . what would make it not a loserfest?”

“Not have you in it,” shouted Rocket, and he proceeded to laugh hysterically at his own joke. The freshman followed suit, although it was more of a slow-motion chuckle. The freshman’s name was Groot. At least, Quill thought that was his name. Groot had only spoken one sentence in his presence, and that was to say “I am Groot.” And that’s what Rocket called him, so it was at least a nickname. Quill couldn’t imagine giving birth to a child and naming it Groot, but then again, with the size of the kid, it was somehow appropriate. 

“Can — can you please not be so loud,” Quill hissed, looking around at the rest of Robotics club. It seemed like only Nebula had heard. She rolled her eyes at him and turned back to her work. “So if you guys are done roasting me—a very unfunny roast, I might add, not creative at all—”

“Quill, I will never be done roasting you,” wheezed Rocket, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. “Oh, you are just too good. You just provide so much material. Okay, but to be serious here.” Quill looked at him suspiciously. “I have some conditions. If you can meet these conditions, I might consider joining your stupid band. One, no trombones. We gotta have proper, cool rock band instruments. Second, I get to play the drums. Everyone knows that the drummer is far and away the best member of the band, and I clearly I am the best out of the three of us, and therefore it only makes sense. Third, and this is very important, we have to play real music and not that vintage” — Rocket said this very nastily and carved several sets of quotation marks in the air — “nonsense that you listen to.”

Quill clenched his fist around his screwdriver in frustration, glancing around the room surreptitiously. Then he jabbed the screwdriver at Rocket. “Those screamo death metal bands you listen are not rock bands and they are not real music,” he said, punctuating each "not" with another poke of the screwdriver. “Music was at its peak in the eighties.”

“Well, then, I’m not joining your band.”

“Wait, Rocket, no. I need you to — you can still be the drummer. You’d be a great drummer. You can grow your hair out and everything. And I promise no trombones.”

“Who’s gonna play guitar and bass, then? Groot, put that thing down,” Rocket snapped. “You’ll set your hand on fire.” Groot, a little mournfully, put the blowtorch back on the table.

“I’m sure it’s not that hard to learn chords,” said Quill. “And we can ask Tony Stark to play bass for us.”

“Tony Stark. You are going to ask Tony Stark to join a stupid little band for the stupid school talent show?” Rocket looked delighted at the prospect, which in his mind clearly entailed lots of humiliation for Quill.

“Stop saying that word so much. And yeah, I can ask him. He’s in jazz band with me. He likes the same — well, kind of the same music that I do. Have you seen the shirts he always wears?”

“No, I haven’t memorized Tony Stark’s wardrobe, ya freak.”

Quill counted to ten in his head while Rocket chuckled to himself and fiddled with the mess of wires and metal in front of him.

“One final question. Who’s gonna be the lead singer?” asked Rocket, yanking several wires out with a shower of sparks.

“Well, me.”

Rocket froze in place, clutching the wires. Very slowly, he turned to face Quill, who watched him apprehensively. Even Groot seemed to be holding his breath. Then Rocket let out a scream of mirth that caused everyone in the room to look at their table. Quill resolutely avoided their eyes. Rocket leaned forward on his stool, beating his fists on the table as he continued to shriek with laughter.

“You are just too much, Quill,” Rocket gasped when he had finally regained his breath.

“Look, asshole, I’m actually a pretty good singer. Hey. Hey. If you do this for me, I’ll give you my old Xbox and you can use it for parts like you’ve always wanted.” 

That shut Rocket up. He sat up slowly, all traces of his former hysteria gone from his face. There was a greedy, calculating glint in his eyes. After a moment of thought, he said, “Okay, Quill. We got a deal. Just don’t embarrass me.”

“Deal,” agreed Quill with a sharp nod. When Rocket went back to his mongrel of a robot, Quill allowed himself a small sigh of relief. For after all, though Rocket had been about as difficult as possible throughout the ordeal, he had given Quill one blessing:

He did not ask why Quill was entering the show.


End file.
